


January in May

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Reality, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Deaf Character, Deaf Katsuki Yuuri, Eventual Relationships, Flashbacks, Implied Relationships, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Out of Character, Personality Swap, Rival Relationship, Social Anxiety, Social Commentary, Social Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Yuuri woke up one morning, he wasn't married to the man of his life.He was battling a man that rivaled him for gold.When Yuuri skated onto the ice, he couldn't hear where to start.Celestino gave him a signal, and Yuuri's body moved in sync to the vibrations across the ice.When Yuuri met his fellow skaters, he expected them to play their part.As if their scripts were changed, everyone he knew wasn't the same.Yuuri expected sixth place at the GPF.It was just another gold to add to his collection.From the social commentator of"Can You Feel My Heartbeat?", HQ presents one of their last contributions to the YoI fandom. An alternative timeline where nobody is who they seem at first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't typed an original YoI work for a very long time, and this for all those peeps who liked my omegaverse works because of their realism. I promised that I would write a similar story, so I decided to do a throwback title to one of the YoI stories I wrote in the past.
> 
> Back then, I didn't know where "January in May" came from or what inspired the name. It sounded cool, so I used it. And now, it's one of my favorite titles.

_I wonder. How does it feel, plunged six feet under?_

History was of the few cardinal choices that Man could partake in, but History was only written by the _victors_ . While the foolhardy reaped the rewards, the rest faded into obscurity. Much like how a previous program was soon forgotten after the _King_ or _Queen_ carved their skates across History. Twisted bodies leapt, rotating just enough before the land. The curve of the ankle back before the hands traced the ground. When Yuuri woke up that morning, the left side of his bed was cold. Where Viktor had been the night before, an untouched blanket and pillow stared back at Yuuri. He didn't recognize this bed. Not the itchy sheets or sagging mattress, not the dim complexion or the absence of Makkachin. Where was he?

* * *

 

“Viktor?” The name stumbled off of his tongue. Yuuri traced his fingers across a nightstand, plucked his glasses, and wore them. Meeting a lonely hotel room for the first time in years. The same faded curtains, his luggage under a glass table--that was _just for show than for use--_ and he was alone. Yuuri turned to his right, perking up when the familiar salty sea threw up its waves. Seagulls fluttered off their perches, took flight across the waterways across Sochi. Despite the frost, nothing held back the ferocity of Russian waters. Earning Yuuri spectacular show, when he all but knew _one_ thing. Why was he here?

If it hadn’t been the flashing lights on his phone, Yuuri would’ve never noticed that he got a text message. Several, _to be exact._ His phone flashed on and off every few seconds. Someone was either spamming him, or this was a classic joke. Perhaps, someone couldn’t take pleasure in tricking Yuuri. Decided to let slip of the plan so that the Japanese skater can get out of this room and find his husband. Reaching over the left side of the bed, Yuuri found his phone on the floor.

Like he expected, Phichit was spamming him with messages. Yuuri scrolled through them, more and more confused than before. A decorated speech of encouragement broken into twenty small, individual chunks was _insane._ Even for Phichit, who would’ve posted the entire thing onto one of his social media accounts. Phichit could’ve called. Why was he texting? Yuuri scratched behind his ear, texting back to Phichit if he had seen Viktor.

 **Squishy Hamster:** _Nikiforov? He’s probably warming up. Get going, YUURI! Nikiforov’s been strong this season._

 **Yuuri:** _?_

 **Squishy Hamster:** _He’s trying to break your gold record. Nikiforov’s your biggest competition right now. I’ll see you on the ice. Good luck~!_

Yuuri blinked. Gold record? Viktor was his biggest competition? Wait, Phichit referred to Viktor as “Nikiforov”. In all the years Yuuri had known Phichit, the Thai skater was comfortable with calling _every_ skater by their first name. A daunting task for newcomers into the international leagues, but Phichit took the task in strides. Careful to not overdo it if the receiver was uncomfortable with it, but Phichit _knew_ Viktor. Gosh, Phichit probably spent so many hours taping posters up in their shared-dorm room that saying “Viktor” was now a tongue-twister. But if the conversation was just with Yuuri, why did Phichit type “Nikiforov” instead?

Yuuri pinched the bridge of his nose before he got another text message. It was from Coach Celestino. Said Italian was right outside the room, alerting Yuuri that he was coming in. Lo and behold, Celestino came in about twenty seconds later. Timidly. Shuffling across the carpeted floor before resting a shaky hand onto Yuuri’s shoulder. When Celestino’s lips moved, Yuuri didn’t hear anything. He asked if Celestino could speak louder, but Yuuri couldn’t hear his own voice. There wasn’t a blur-effect or an ominous echo. Pure silence in between him and Celestino, drawing the blood out from his coach’s face.

 _If you need sign-language, I can do it._ Celestino’s hands moved so quickly that Yuuri barely had time to analyze each sign. Yuuri didn’t down he could read sign-language but when his own hands moved on their own, the Japanese skater simply played his part.

_I’m sorry. It’s been a weird morning for me._

_Do you want me to be here while you relax? I don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, but I just wanted you to know._

Yuuri had to restrain his eyebrow from raising. When did Celestino get so... _bashful?_ Typically, Coach Celestino would be unfurling one of his many speeches or accomplishments to boost Yuuri’s confidence. Instead, _Yuuri_ was the one who boosted Celestino’s confidence. Reminding the Italian that he was a splendid coach, and that he was one of the best coaches that Yuuri knew. Considering that Yuuri was only familiar with Viktor and Yakov, there weren’t many coaches that he could speak for. In the end, the thought counted. Celestino grew a bit braver, thanking Yuuri for being his pupil before leaving to give the skater some privacy.

Alone in his room, Yuuri got ready for his final performance. His body moved on its own, allowing the skater to recap everything that had happened. He woke up to find an empty space next to him. He was in Sochi, Russia for the Grand Prix Final. This morning will showcase the _Free Skate,_ and the _Gala_ was this evening. Yuuri bit his bottom lip. _If everything goes to plan, I take sixth place and leave before the Gala Exhibition._ Yuuri puffed out a sigh. With his entire life upside down, the one thing Yuuri _could_ control was his performance in a few hours. If he did everything that he did before, then everything _should_ be back to normal. Zipping up his jacket, Yuuri slung his sports bag over his shoulder and trooped out of the hotel room.

Just like before, the hotel was the same. Nothing had changed. From the walls, to the lights, and to the carpet beneath his feet. Yuuri walked with firm steps. Not out of confidence, but to ease his mind. Letting him think back to his last performance at this _exact_ date in _his_ reality. If memory was correct, Mari should be texting-- _originally, she called but Yuuri was deaf in this reality--_ a message of Vicchan’s death. Yuuri’s fingers twitched. He grabbed onto the shoulder strap of his sports bag. Learning to be happy again after Vicchan’s death rattled what breath Yuuri had left. He breathed again and marched forward. Sad to say: _If Vicchan died in this reality too, it gave Yuuri the edge he needed to fail._

Right on cue when Yuuri made it to the first floor of the hotel, he received a text message from Mari. The moment of truth. Yuuri turned on his phone and stared at the message. No words. Just a picture. A picture of his mother and father hovering in the back,  busy making pork cutlet bowls when Mari took the selfie. Her hair was down, absent of the usual highlights-- _perhaps, Mari never had highlights in this reality._ Piercing-free as well, a mere icing on the cake when Yuuri was taken back by her smile. All her teeth showed with dimples risen over the ends of her lips. In her lap was the small and playful Vicchan, his paw reaching up to the phone. Tongue sticking out with twinkles in his eyes.

Yuuri didn’t know that he was crying. His face trying to register a reaction, but remained a clean slate. It must’ve looked strange. A stoic face with tears dripping down the jawline. Mouth slightly open, eyes trying to capture every detail of the image. Yuuri’s mother was strong, wrestling crates of beer in the back with one arm. His father was his usual chipper-self, and Yuuri saw a hint of a hearing-aid in Toshiya’s left ear. Other than the shocking factors Yuuri noticed earlier, the only thing different about Mari was how she wore her baggy clothes. Not out of style like in the _former_ reality, but out of necessity in _this_ reality. She wore a golden ring over a finger when she petted VIcchan in the selfie.

Yuuri needed a moment. He crashed onto a hotel sofa. Hands between his legs, trying to comprehend what he just saw. Vicchan was alive, this reality warped his family, and Yuuri was unequivocally _happy._ That emotion burned in his chest, and Yuuri wept in joy. Not caring that people stared at him funny or took pictures. Not caring that the competition may take this as a sign of weakness on Yuuri’s part. He didn’t care. Yuuri was so, so grateful that his family was happy. That everything was okay, that everyone was alive and well, and that they still supported him in _this_ reality too. Yuuri texted back, expressing his thanks before wiping back the tears.

For just this once, Yuuri was going to play to this reality’s rules.

* * *

 

 _“Viktor,”_ Yuri sighed. The youth scratched the back of his head, watching his senior pace back and forth across the locker room. With knife-shoes in his hands. Yuri gulped.

“Viktor,” Yuri said it louder. Viktor didn’t turn around, consumed in his _own_ reality before whipping his head back. Gave Yuri an acknowledging nod. The blonde shook his head, sinking back into the shadows of Viktor’s thoughts while the senior prepared himself.

He was twenty-six. A dying _dinosaur_ compared to the rest of the competition. Viktor knew that, but it didn’t stop him from competing. How could he retire when gold was so close that he could almost _taste_ it? Viktor had heard rumors that Yuuri was retiring after this season. The _Tiara of Japan_ wanted to settle down. Of course, he would. Yuuri had nothing to fear because his future was already set in stone. He had an end-game. Viktor didn’t. The Russian paced so much that Yuri emerged from the sidelines again.

“Viktor, it’s time to think about retirement.”

“I can still skate.”

“You almost tore a muscle in Hungary,” Yuri argued back. It was barely an argument at this point. With Yuri’s flat tone and Viktor’s heart on a sleeve. Barely enough to spark a conflict, but Yuri knew when to back off when he needed to. It wasn’t good if a fragile heart of glass shattered now.

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Viktor grinned at Yuri, and the youth bared his teeth back. Viktor shook his head, so Yuri tried again. Managing a somewhat approachable smile. Yuri wiped the expression off with the back of his sleeve. They could work on _that_ later. There were bigger issues in front of them, and Viktor was too blind to see them.

“I know this means a lot to you, but you need to watch your health. How many quads are you doing?” Yuri narrowed his eyes when Viktor hesitated with his answer. “In your condition, three will set you back. Attempt two and finish up with step sequences. If your stamina is still good, try to end with a combination for more points.”

“I was thinking of five. Five quads.”

If Yuri was drinking something, he would’ve spat everything onto Viktor. Maybe climb onto a bench and slap his senior silly for uttering those words, but that wasn’t Yuri.

 _“F-Five?”_ It was ridiculous. Sure, five quads had been done before in the past, but it was done by an eighteen-year old from the U.S.! Viktor was crazy, but there was nothing Yuri could say to change his mind.

“Step sequences are Yuuri’s speciality,” Viktor reasoned. “Quads are still foreign to him, so I have an edge.”

“You’re not Nathan Chen,” Yuri said. The blonde stared up a mountain, and Viktor waved his winning flag on the summit. Yuri shook his head, coaxing Viktor back to reality. “You’re not Yuuri Katsuki. You can’t go through with this. You’ll _kill_ yourself.”

“It’s because I’m not them. That’s why I want to do it.”

Before Yuri could drag Viktor by the ear from this fantasy, Viktor received a phone call. He gave Yuri a cheery wave before leaving the locker room, rapid Russian slipping out from his lips. Tone shifted to something more hesitant. When Viktor left the locker room, his skating jacket sagged over his shoulders. His steps became more like shuffles, and he squeezed his skates so hard that he _had_ to win. If not for his sake, for Makkachin’s.

* * *

 

When Yuuri skated onto the ice, his life flashed before his eyes. Probably because the ice was _very_ shiny and the spotlights were solely focused on him. Trailing after him like a firefly, keeping him warm and safe. Yuuri remembered this costume, with the white and blue pattern. Frills at his collar and down his sleeves, making him look like a flower or a _nymph_ on the ice. Yuuri scratched his skates into his reflection. This was real. Before an audience in this Grand Prix Final yet again. Supposedly, Yuuri had stood on this stage four times before. Today marked his fifth, and everybody expected _great_ things from him.

 _“For this Free Skate, Yuuri Katsuki will be performing to_ [ _“The Swan”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q&list=LL1ay1IwgbQtTRLBi3jBftDw&index=1) _, the thirteenth movement of “The Carnival of Animals”. Written and composed by Camille Saint-Saens,”_ said the announcer, Morooka.The airiness of his voice complemented the gentleness of the piece. The lull of the piano began in the background. Celestino waved his hands on the sideline. Enough movement for Yuuri to see. Celestino counted off the beats before the cello solo, and Yuuri moved with the rich instrument’s voice. Fluttering along the ice rink like a swan, circling along a crystal-clear water. Reaching out for hope before the flap of the wings.

Like Yuuri suspected, he couldn’t hear the music. The vibrations from the speakers kept Yuuri in time with the music, and it helped that he had heard this song before. In the _former_ reality. But skating in a silence like this cloaked a pristine atmosphere over Yuuri’s shoulders. He moved across the ice with a purpose. Unable to hear the gasps and cheers from the audience, or the skid of his skates when he dug his feet in before a jump. Soaring high like the swan, gathering insects for a friend who would never come home. But it was more than that, Yuuri realized. Fatigue setting in early for the second-half of the Free Skate.

The swan was wounded and dying. Having protected every breath of Life that rustled its wings. One last dance over a lonely lake before disappearing in everyone’s memories. It was a sad story, but it was a story of bliss. Yuuri didn’t let the swan’s story die. Instead, his step sequences conveyed the swan’s life and charity. Expressing the hardships of being a protector before finally, resting one’s hand on a lilypad after a long, long day. But there was hope. The swan’s legacy did not die, because another swan came in and became the protector in the swan’s place. Waving a wing over the predecessor for a job well done.

Draped across the ice, Yuuri closed his eyes. Peace overwhelming his senses. In the former reality, he was so flustered after hearing Vicchan’s death that he forgot the story of the swan. But today, _but right now,_ Yuuri was at peace. Coming to accept that perhaps everything that happened before was a dream, but _this_ reality was a dream. Perhaps, he was coming to terms that the life he knew was something he couldn’t get back. He had to embrace _this_ reality if he was going to survive.

When the skater got up, he was met with applause. Yuuri couldn’t hear a single note of it, but he saw Celestino’s tear-stained face when he embraced Phichit. The Thai skater snapped pictures on a flip-phone before yelling that he couldn’t take anymore pictures and why! First, Yuuri needed to bring back Phichit’s tech-savviness. That was one thing that Yuuri couldn’t ignore when he skated to the Kiss and Cry. Where Celestino cried and kissed both of his cheeks.

When all the Free Skates were over with, the scores were tallied and posted on the telescreens for everyone to see. Yet again, Yuuri was in first place. A _true_ eye-opener for a skater that had formerly ranked sixth in another reality. Yuuri scanned the ranks. Everyone was around the same spot, just like in Yuuri’s memory. Except for one. Viktor Nikiforov was in sixth, a hundred points below Yuuri. How was that possible? In this reality, was Viktor a mediocre skater? No, Viktor was _never_ a mediocre skater. Yuuri needed to know the truth. Before the press could get a hold of him, Yuuri ran.

If Viktor had Yuuri’s fate in this reality, that meant Viktor was in a restroom stall. Running past audience members and other fellow skaters, Yuuri scanned ahead. Recognizing the restroom that he cried in after he saw his results. _Yurio should be there too._ Yuuri balled his hands into fist. Was Yurio going to yell at Viktor, or was the blonde going to do something else? Yuuri needed to be there, in case things got ugly. Pushing back the restroom door, Yuuri locked eyes with Yurio.

The youth had gently knocked on a stall door, where Viktor was on the other side. Crying? No, Yurio looked too calm if Viktor was crying. No, that wasn’t it. Yurio wore a stoic expression, something that reminded Yuuri of Otabek. Tilting his head to the side, Yurio mumbled something.

_“He’s here.”_

Yuuri could read the youth’s lips.

Out the restroom stall was Viktor. Grimacing, hand over his back because of an injury. Eyes darkening by fifty shades when he saw Yuuri. _Five-time winner of the Grand Prix Final._ Yuuri had never seen so much hatred in one person. Viktor’s eyes burned in it before they softened when Yurio helped him walk. Managing to stand straight on his own, Viktor smiled at Yuuri. As lifeless as a smile could get to feign a congratulatory remark.

 _“_ You did well out there.”

Yuuri had heard that phrase hundreds of times before in the former reality, and Viktor was always honest with every word.

In this reality, it was if Viktor coughed up poison on-command. However, there was a grace that Yuuri recognized. A grace of someone that recognized defeat when they felt it. Viktor was still polite. Nursing his back wound when he managed to walk without Yurio’s help. He passed by Yuuri before bumping into the latter’s shoulder. He didn’t turn around. The hands behind Viktor signed everything that he couldn’t say.

Yuuri had every reason to fear that former-Viktor may’ve never existed in the first place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a restart isn't bad, after all.

**_Where are you now?_ ** **_  
_ ** _ I guess, it was all just a fantasy. _

* * *

 

The man that Yuuri knew was gone. What passed him in the restroom was simply a pale imitation. But for a fleeting moment, Yuuri  _ did  _ see Viktor. The tranquility and a simple smile that spoke two, simple words.  _ I’m okay.  _ Even though his eyes weren’t smiling, there wasn’t a frown in Viktor’s eyes. Before the brush of cold shoulder, Yuuri noticed that Viktor glanced at him. It was quick. Eyes locked in one moment. Eyes darted ahead in another. As if a warning notification popped up in the Russian’s server, and Viktor-- _ the “real” Viktor-- _ wanted to see Yuuri one last time.

Clasped behind Viktor’s back were his hands. Right hand supporting the left, a thumbs-up. In Russia, the gesture meant something  _ different  _ than the American-definition that Yuuri knew. However, Viktor didn’t know Yuuri in  _ this  _ reality. If anything, Viktor banked that Yuuri would perceive it the American-way before flipping the gesture upside down. The switch was seamless, not a single delay. Almost as if Viktor had practiced the maneuver in front of a three-way, mirror closet. Over and over again, with Makkachin wagging her fluffy tail in approval.

Or perhaps, Yuuri was overthinking this.

“You’re Katsuki, right?” Yuri broke the silence. Yuuri stared at the restroom door. “You’ve known Viktor since you were in the Junior Leagues, right?” Again, no response.

It wasn’t a secret that Yuuri Katsuki was deaf, and Yuri knew better than to urge a deaf man to tell his tale. But, there were some things that couldn’t be ignored. No matter how far one averted their gaze from a scene. The truth was, Yuuri’s face contorted with mixed-emotions when he saw Viktor again. Absent of a cheery smile or motivational gaze. Fear crept in because the skater’s worst nightmare had been realized. Yuri wanted to know why. But before he got the chance, Yuuri left the restroom.

It wasn’t nice to grab somebody-- _ deaf or not-- _ by the hand or arm, just for a simple interrogation. Okay,  _ interrogation  _ wasn’t the term Yuri wanted. The blonde clawed at his own neck, stood awkwardly in silence.

_ “What is the nature of your relationship with Viktor?”  _ The only person that heard Yuri was his own reflection, and even  _ it  _ didn’t know the answer. At the tip of his tongue, Yuri had something. Maybe it was the answer, but the blonde couldn’t spill it.

* * *

 

_ “You did well out there.” _

_ Yuuri would never forget that smile. Viktor pulled him into the Kiss and Cry, holding him and never letting go. Just a serene moment between skater and coach. Yuuri rested his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, feeling his coach’s whispery breaths. What Viktor mumbled to Yuuri was a mystery. It could’ve been anything. _

_ A love confession if Viktor wanted to be cheesy, but Viktor didn’t need to use words. Held in his husband’s embrace, Yuuri felt the warmth and bliss of being in love. It felt like he and Viktor were dating again, suddenly shy. But reaching out so that the other wouldn’t be cold. _

_ Perhaps, a marriage proposal if Viktor wanted to be cheesy. The wedding rings between them had already sealed their fate. Waking up every morning, exchanging messy kisses before one of them rolled off the bed. Narrowingly missing a snoring Makkachin. Bumping each other with their hips when they brushed their teeth, pretending to hog the mirror from the other. Taking turns playing with Makkachin--showering the poodle with so much attention--before a brisk morning walk. Doing routines on an ice rink, pretending to be strangers and falling in love. All over again. Return home, have dinner with wine, watch a movie while cuddling, and then retire in the same bed for the night. _

_ Yuuri was usually the first to fall asleep. And when he woke in the middle of the night, he reached out for Viktor’s hand. It was like living with your best friend for every, single day of your life. That was cheesy, but it was cheesy like a cheesecake. Something you only need once, and it’ll keep you full forever. _

_ Yuuri never found out what Viktor had said during the embrace. _

_ For all he knew, Viktor could’ve said, “Why me?” _

* * *

 

Sitting alone in a crowded lobby, Yuuri raised his left hand up to one of the overhead lights. His ring finger may’ve been bandless, but Yuuri didn’t give-up on Viktor. If Viktor had Yuuri’s fate in this reality, that meant  _ Yuuri  _ had to build the bridge between them.

Before, it was always Viktor that reached out in the beginning. Helping Yuuri grow comfortable with himself and around the people he knew and cherished. In  _ this  _ reality, Yuuri motivated himself to be the gentle nudge for Viktor. There was a problem with the logic. Yes, Yuuri  _ could  _ do everything that Viktor had done for him, but those actions were explicitly tailored to Yuuri alone. Viktor handled things differently than him.

Other reality or not, that was always true.

* * *

 

_ “If I had been a different person, would we had fallen in love?” _

_ Yuuri saw Viktor’s lips move, but he couldn’t read them. Partially, Yuuri was distracted by the Borscht Viktor made earlier that evening. Busy spooning himself a mouthful, Yuuri signed if Viktor could repeat what he said. Viktor obliged. Leaning in close so that Yuuri could read his lips comfortably. A little too close since Viktor could steal himself a kiss if he wanted to, but he’ll save it for another time. _

_ Viktor spoke, but he didn’t repeat his question. The statement had already faded to the back of his mind. _

* * *

 

Instead of dwelling in the events that didn’t exist  _ here,  _ Yuuri needed a better understanding of the world he was currently in. Especially of everyone he knew. Slouching against the lobby’s couch, Yuuri created a chart in his mind.

The once explosive Yuri Plisetsky was a quiet fuse. Phichit wasn’t familiar with technology and by some extent, the internet as well-- _ a sharp contrast from the go-go happy, selfie-lover.  _ Coach Celestino was gentle with his words, sugar-coating his comments as to not upset anyone. The coach Yuuri knew said things boldly, kept nothing a secret. Viktor had always been harsh-- _ his first few weeks as a coach broke and rebuilt Yuuri, more times that he could count-- _ but in this reality, Viktor  _ knew  _ how his comments impacted others. He could play it off that he was oblivious to the situation, but Yuuri already knew  _ that  _ Viktor.  _ This  _ Viktor couldn’t play the same card.

Yuuri stopped himself.

This and that? People were still people. Even if Yuuri had known them one way, it didn’t mean he had the right to classify their “other selves” in another category. Because in the end, Yuri was still Yuri. The lovable Phichit was still lovable and  _ still  _ Phichit. Celestino was still the best coach Yuuri could ask for, and Viktor was still the man he had admired while growing up.

Perhaps in this reality, the aspects that Yuuri never noticed were accentuated  _ more  _ so that he could recognize the flaws or fears about the people he knew.

If that was the case, why was Yuuri deaf? He rubbed his throat with a finger, massaging his vocal chords. Yuuri wasn’t sure with his words. It felt like his voice was quick to give-up on him when he needed it the most. He knew that others could learn sign-language on his behalf, but Yuuri wanted to speak. He wanted to pull down the awkwardness between him and everyone else. Not because he was uncomfortable with himself or with who he was, but because Yuuri knew that there were people out there who couldn’t accommodate to him. Whether they didn’t have time, didn’t have the resources, or didn’t feel the need to learn sign-language. Yuuri didn’t want to exclude them, even if they had excluded him first.

In the former-reality, _ when Yuuri could hear and speak normally, _ did he shy himself away because he wasn’t confident with the  _ strength _ he had?

Yuuri shook his head.

He could try to make sense of what he knew later. Right now, there was a world he wanted to rediscover. There were so many things he wanted to say, so Yuuri wanted to find someone. Not a reporter, but a fan or another skater. Yuuri wanted to take the world and leave a print to show that he belonged in it too.

_ Besides, the story needs an uplifting spirit after a turbulent mess of emotions. _

“I can almost hear the narrator break the fourth-wall,” Yuuri chirped, pleased to know that his voice didn’t back down from a challenge. Picking himself up, Yuuri walked back to the hotel. His frilly costume hidden underneath his sports jacket, his bag slung over shoulders like usual. An adventurous stride across the skating facility before Yuuri pushed back the exit doors. Stepping into a familiar Sochi, Russia.

* * *

 

That evening, the stage was set for the medal ceremony. The top three ranks skated onto the ice with a flourish in their steps. Yuuri led the group, dressed handsomely in his frilly costume. Circling across the ice playfully before he held onto JJ and Chris’ hands. Pulling them ahead of him, letting them have a place in the spotlight before the three skaters met in the middle. Shiny silver jingled across Chris’ chest, the skater blew shy kisses and bowed before the audience. Burly bronze shone brightly against JJ, the Canadian was close to tears when he saw his girlfriend with a banner. Written in cursive was JJ’s full name, and holding the banner up were JJ’s pals from a support group.

_ “It’s okay to cry.” _

JJ glanced down, meeting Yuuri’s gaze and smile. Yuuri held onto JJ’s hand, and JJ squeezed back. Tears streaming down his face, but a huge grin across his lips. JJ waved back at his friends, at Isabella, at the audience, and to the world. The ice rink discriminated no one, no matter how fragile or how old they were. JJ stood tall with pride. He had already proven to himself and to the world that he belonged, and that was the greatest gift.

“Thank you.”

Yuuri looked forward, squinting his eyes when the cameraman took their shots. Camera flashes ricocheted off the skaters, making Yuuri glad that he didn’t bring his glasses onto the ice. Phichit was somewhere in the audience, carrying them for him. Probably snapping as many pictures that his phone’s memory could permit.

_ Yuuri. _

Yuuri felt a surge of warmth when Chris signed his name.

_ Let’s give the world a performance that they’ll never forget.  _ Chris grabbed JJ’s attention, and the skater knew exactly what to do.

The Canadian understood next to nothing about sign-language, but he knew a thing or two about surprises. And before Yuuri knew it, the medal ceremony shifted into a Gala Performance. Starring Jean Jacques Leroy, Christophe Giacometti, and himself,  _ Yuuri Katsuki.  _ [ A fluid piece ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4w_5bY0tBY) swept over the audience. Growing with strength when the three skaters assumed their positions. Performing the highlights of their Short Programs and Free Skates over a rhythm that served as the steady beats to their hearts.

Using the downbeats as a guide, Yuuri followed it while his body moved on its own. All the while, he caught glimpses of Chris and JJ’s performances. Chris imitating a jump combination that landed him into second place. It wasn’t an imitation, but an explosion of power. Chris leapt into the air and carried over so many rotations before landing with a clean step. Side-shuffled a step sequence before initiating his spins. His signature quality called for a delicate balance, shuffling from foot to foot with ease. Making Chris a ballerina on ice before he bent back for a dip and retreated when JJ tagged him.

Striking the air around him with booming claps and kicks, relishing his role as the Knight in a fantasy. Keeping evil at bay to keep the Kingdom safe. And for JJ’s Kingdom, it was built upon the smiles and joy of everyone before him, of everyone with him, and of everyone after him. A kingdom was only as strong as the people that built it, and a kingdom had no end when there was always something to shelter and protect. JJ faded out from the spotlight with an infamous jump of his. Sailing the skater clean cross the ice rink before a firm landing.

Skid to a halt along the sidelines, bobbed his head to the song’s rhythm when Chris also retreated. Skating back into his boyfriend’s arms, who reached out from the sideline and whisked the skater to safety. Easily carrying Chris bridal-style before the skater stammered that he could walk just fine.  _ Thank you very much. _

Last but not least, there was Yuuri. What should he do? He wanted to end the Gala in a special way, and what came to mind was his finishing sequence for the Free Skate:  _ Yuuri on Ice. _

Viktor had a signature move. The  _ Quad Flip. _

Yuuri gulped.

He successfully performed the quad only once in his skating career, but it was a move that made the skater proud. Not only was Yuuri pushing himself to try new things, he could finally view Viktor as his equal. As someone he could skate next to, instead of admiring from afar. The attempt was done cleanly during the Grand Prix Final in the former-reality, accomplished because Yuuri believed that he would never see Viktor again. So for the last connection Yuuri had with his coach at the time, he made it an ending that no one would forget.

Yuuri wasn’t sure if his body could handle the quad in its current-state, but no breath was wasted if you tried.

Yuuri glided into the quad. Arms reaching out before he pulled them against him. Beginning a rotation before leaping into the air. He forgot how many rotations were in a  _ Quad Flip _ , but his body recognized the limits of what it could do. When he landed, Yuuri’s hands touched the ice. They had to or he would’ve fell, but the audience didn’t seem to mind. Cameras flashed on and off in the distance, the shutters fluttering like wings. The audience roared in the background. Viktor lifted his head chin off from his hands, still hunched over the ice rink’s side.

Was Yuuri declaring war? The quad was a bold statement, even if he failed to land properly. Nonetheless, Viktor didn’t look away. Yuri noticed that when he got up from his seat and stood next to Viktor. Closer to the ice rink to see Yuuri’s ending. The youth had his thumb between his teeth before he elbowed Viktor in the gut. The older skater clutched his side, squinting at Yuri while the youth gnawed his thumbnail.

“He wants your attention,” Yuri mumbled. Viktor scoffed. “If you don’t believe me, look for yourself.”

Grudgingly, Viktor obliged. It was hard to focus with pain from all sides, but Viktor managed to catch glimpses of Yuuri’s remaining spins. And without a thought, Yuuri extended his arm and hand to the audience with a gentle end to the Exhibition Gala. Breathing hard, but Yuuri knew who he was pointing to. He didn’t need glasses to recognize Viktor’s dropped jaw. Yuuri didn’t know his and Viktor’s past in this world, but the Japanese skater was willing to start over.

Viktor reached out to him first. Yuuri returned the favor.

Albeit, the skater wasn’t naked in a hot spring, but Yuuri didn’t have to be because this was  _ his  _ way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Yuuri Katsuki was born into Viktor's world, it was during the GPF Banquet. Determined to not become a sloppy drunk like "last time", Yuuri attends the party to learn more about his fellow skaters. Learn more about his role in this-reality and why Viktor can't seem to look his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I like writing humor.
> 
> Other times, my friends accuse me for twisting their feelz. I apologize for nothing. :D
> 
> On another note, this fic is pretty much a sick-metaphor of a recent heartache. She found her way of moving on, and this is my way. Typing a fic that loosely tells the story. *sighs*
> 
> AO3 is screwing with me at the moment. I'll fix the chapter format later

_ This  _ was where Yuuri Katsuki was born.

Not out from the womb after nine months in Hiroko’s “stomach”-- _ Mari sure liked to tease with that joke.  _ Not in a small clinic, somewhere in Hasetsu-- _ November 29th, under a full moon with Autumn leaves.  _ Not when his tiny heart began its first beat as a prototype Human-- _ looking more like an alien than a baby.  _ Yes, Yuuri Katsuki was born when he got married.  _ Born again, that is.  _ Because when Yuuri turned around, he saw the Love of his LIfe walk down the aisle with a fussy Yurio, who threw flower petals along with a teary-eyed Minami. For a “born again”, Yuuri got to meet the newest editions to his family. The Nikiforovs plus Makkachin. But brushing aside the cuteness of it all, the first time Yuuri Katsuki was  _ born  _ in Viktor Nikiforov’s world was during... _ the GPF banquet. _

In every reality, the banquet was always the same. Yuuri gulped.

You couldn’t run from champagne, but Yuuri learned from past mistakes. If he wanted a sip, take  _ one  _ glass. Not twenty. Definitely don’t stack the glasses up to make a champagne pyramid like last time. And this time, Yuuri wasn’t alone. He had Phichit and Celestino with him, enough to remind Yuuri to slow down if the champagne blurred how fast he was drinking. But not only that, this particular banquet was when he and Viktor first “met”. First danced, first partied, and there were some other  _ firsts  _ involved. Yuuri didn’t know about those until he got married to the man, so the skater was  _ definitely  _ going to keep his guard up. Didn’t hurt that Yuuri had a shot of Tequila flowing in his blood when he stumbled onto the dance floor.

_ That’s some strong stuff. _

But of course, there was an air of formality in all of this. Skaters and coaches were prim and proper to one another, careful not to laugh too hard. Best to keep conversations  _ private _ , lest there be an eavesdropper amongst them.

Observe Exhibit A, there was Mila Babicheva. Dancing in a floral dress with a shirt-tucked Georgi. Modern moves and ballroom-grace didn’t pair without a complaint, but Mila took her chances when Georgi led her across the dance floor. With every spin, Mila flourished her dress, enough of a cover as she leaned in for the juicy stories and secrets all around her. Taking Georgi by the hand,  _ curling her fingers between his, _ Mila stole the older skater. Along with the words:  _ ‘Tis all but a fantasy.  _ Turning the dance into a tango, running a rose stem across Georgi’s lips. Dipped him back, Mila’s hair curled past her lips when she leaned in for a kiss. Sliding the rose out from between his teeth, Georgi slapped her with the flower. Enough for Mila to let go, and Georgi smacked his head against the floor. Easing to his feet slowly before the monologue.

_ “Oh my, how can a shining Knight in armor attack a humble Maiden?” _ Mila tugged a handkerchief-- _ wait, wasn’t that Georgi’s?-- _ with her teeth, tears emerging from beneath her eyelashes. The female skater tucked her legs underneath herself, a heartbroken maiden with her emotions on but a sleeve. Yuri came over and shone a flashlight over Mila’s head. Oh, the dramatic effects. An Oscar in the making.

Georgi snatched back his handkerchief and dropped his rose for Mila to snatch. She kept her attention away, expecting a lecture. But never  _ this. _

Yuri shone his phone's torchlight right into Georgi’s face.

_ “Romance is but a lie that Humanity tells itself to justify the agony coiled deep within our hearts,”  _ Georgi began. He dropped to one knee and grasped Mila’s hand. The younger skater ceased her sniffling. Georgi pushed back Mila’s hair and gently cradled the rose over her ear. Letting the girl’s hair sweep over the flower before Georgi helped Mila to her feet.  _ “But if there is Love, there is great sacrifice to protect all those who cherish it.” _

Yuri was clearly not paid enough. In the background, tossing confetti over Georgi’s head for fake-snow.

_ “You know, Georgi.” _ Mila’s voice grew deeper, smoother. Running an innocent finger down the small of Georgi’s back. “If you want a girlfriend, I can hook you up.” Mila winked. Georgi released the girl from his grasp, but Mila dragged the older skater off the dance floor. Ignoring the complaints and tugs. “C’mon, a theatrical guy like you can totally find somebody! I’m an expert at Love.”

_ “You’re an expert at heartbreak,” _ Georgi hissed.

The two bantered back and forth before disappearing into the crowd. A cardboard, sweat-drop ran down Yuuri’s head. Like in those comedic shows, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves in this nonsense.

Over in Exhibit B, there was the overprotective skater. Sara Crispino didn’t bat an eyelash when she saw her twin brother talking to a female skater.  _ Alone.  _ Technically, they were still in the banquet room, but the skater had Michele cornered in a seat.  _ Not “cornered” because Michele had more than enough room if he wanted to leave.  _ None of that mattered to Sara, and she knew damn well of what was at stake.

Naive as ever, Michele gave his sincerest thanks when the female skater brought over a plate of food. They shared some of the snacks-- _ Like good pals, my ass _ . The whole scene was enough to make Sara gag, and her dearest Michele needed  _ her _ . But, there was no way for her to get close.

A very solid line of people separated her from  _ Mickey.  _ And in the middle of it all was the calculative Emil, typing away on his laptop. Programs flying right and left across his eyes, just their reflections. Enough to make a few guest wonder what was the true color behind his eyes. But, you might be wondering why Emil was going through all this trouble. The Czech skater was happy to explain. Before the next skating season, it was only  _ natural  _ to create diagrams and develop athletic studies of  _ all  _ the “running” competitors. Even a toddler could understand that.

That was why: If there was anyone who could shove logic down someone’s brain, it was  _ him. Emil Nekola. _

Michele needed to see the light. Sara pushed her way through the food line, elbowing past people to get within Emil’s hearing range. She could only make it  _ so far  _ before she was knocked back.  _ Back to square one. _

“Emil!”

“Ms. Crispino, I would advise that you not hold a conversation a meter away from your recipient.” Emil barely looked up from his laptop when he acknowledged her.

_ Oh, if looks could kill... _

“That’s not the point right now. You have to save  _ Mickey.” _

Emil smoothed back his hair. “Mr. Crispino is  _ hardly  _ in any danger.”

“He knows nothing about the  _ Ways of Women!”  _ Sara went around the food line, the end of her midnight dress brushed against Emil’s leg when the Italian stood behind him. Emil didn't look up, but he wasn't immune to Sara’s voice. As if time slowed down so that he wouldn't miss a single word.  _ “You’re his protector when I can’t.” _

Emil glanced back. “Mr. Crispino is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He may be an aloof older brother-- _ I can vouch for that-- _ but he isn’t a dimwitted one. Please have more faith in him.”

Sara  _ tsked  _ her tongued, lightening her heart when Michele approached Emil and Sara. Happy as he could be. Sara’s dress swept away from Emil. She sat in the seat opposite to him, matched Michele’s smile. Her twin brother talked about a very nice woman that he shared crackers with. Glad that he made a new friend, and the statement alone wiggled a sword through Sara’s organs. She maintained her smile, nonetheless. Determined to get a name later in the night.

“I’m jealous of you, Mr. Crispino.” Emil was the first to break the silence. He set his laptop aside, admiring the graceful dancers swishing their moves across the dance floor. Looking out fondly to the personalities that he didn't have, and the personalities that he could only have within his dreams. “It must be nice to make friends.”

“If you’re shy, I can help you meet people,  _ Emi.”  _ The nickname rolled off of Michele’s tongue like caramel candy. Turning the tips of Emil’s ears red, and Sara raised an eyebrow. Mumbling the nickname under her breath, unable to hold back her laughter afterwards. Emil didn't say anything. Either too polite or too embarrassed to do so. Sara wagered on the latter.

Crossing her legs, Sara rested her chin over her hands.  _ “Mickey,  _ don’t you think ‘ _ Emi’  _ is too cute for Emil?”

Michele shook his head. “It’s short and to the point, just like Emil.” He gazed fondly over his friend before clinging to his sister. Holding her hand, Michele led Sara to the dance floor so that they could waltz the night away. Emil returned to his laptop, but he didn’t type anything. Just gazing at the Crispino siblings with a small smile over his lips.  _ Emi’s not a bad nickname,  _ he concluded. Emil wasn't one to play with nicknames, but he could loosen up. Just this once.

“Thank you,  _ Mickey.” _

* * *

 

The banquet was pretty dull if you did absolutely nothing during the Grand Prix Final. Yuri was only here because he came to cheer for Viktor. It also helped that the GPF was in Russia, so it was only a matter of ordering a train ticket and riding from the capital to Sochi. All in all, there were more surprises than people expected. Given, this  _ was  _ the Grand Prix Final, and any risk came with its corresponding consequence. Today wasn’t a good day for Viktor. Yuri didn’t need a PhD to figure that one out, but he needed a  _ Masters  _ to decipher the twisted feelings that kept Viktor on guard.

An hour into the banquet, Yuri bailed early. After wasting his phone’s battery on being the dramatic-backdrop for  _ someone’s  _ shenanigans-- _ Yuri quenched his throat with apple cider-- _ he called it quits. Tugging his tie as he strolled across the banquet room. Narrowingly dodging some strangers and coaches before pushing back the heavy doors. Cracking one of Viktor’s toes in the process.

Yuri stared at Viktor. Viktor was already staring at him. In black and white attire with a red tie down the middle. Expecting a night filled with dancing and humor, but nope. Just another, typical night in bodily pain. Viktor blew out a sigh, counting from one to ten in his mind. Calm and dignified, but his knees shook.

_ “What did I do in my past life?” _ he muttered. Yuri still stared at him. Viktor caved, pulling off a small smile. Eyes darting down to his toe, back up to Yuri, and then back down to his toe.

Yuri nodded, pulling the door towards himself to free Viktor’s toe.

The toe slipped out quickly, enough pain to buckle Viktor to his knees. Crumbling apart like a castle while an aloof Knight-- _ Yuri even snapped a picture for his wallpaper-- _ stood before him, immune to the damage he had caused. Crouched on the floor, Viktor massaged his poor injury. Meanwhile, Yuri looked down on him. Hand at his hips in a teenager-way.  _ Then again, _ Yuri  _ was  _ a teenager.  _ No matter what reality someone was in, Yuri never grew older than that. _

Eyes darting left and right, Yuri squeezed himself through a tight opening and closed the banquet doors behind him. A soft rumble when the glossy woods bounced off the doorframe. Yuri asked Viktor if he was okay, making the latter wonder if Yuri had been paying attention at all. Considering that the teen took a picture  _ first  _ before helping, Yuri had a strange way of sorting out his priorities. Viktor couldn’t judge. His  _ own  _ arrangement wasn’t better, by a longshot.

“The banquet is kind of wild,” Yuri said, pulling Viktor up by the arm. Viktor hissed, urging Yuri to be gentler. Yuri apologized, but he did nothing to improve his method. Viktor gritted his teeth and used the blonde’s shoulder for support. Pushing himself up while Yuri pulled him forward. His back was hunched over, but Viktor could still move if he wanted to. Albeit, he had no plans of traveling very far since dancing was  _ clearly  _ not an option. Let alone, stroll around without having a hip-bone dance in and out with a swiveling-noise.

Viktor breathed steadily. “Can you help me find a seat, please?”

And so, they walked.  _ Shuffled down the hall, away from the party lights and enthusiasm.  _ Found a squishy seat for Viktor by a window, where he could look out and watch the Sochi lights and traffic if he cared for it. Falling into the seat wasn’t hard, but the waves of pain afterwards repeatedly stabbed his lower back. Enough, where Viktor had to ask for an extra pillow.

“There were some pillows at the banquet.” Yuri rubbed his shoes together, looking down at his feet. The awkwardness of the entire situation was thick. So thick, that Viktor was uneasy. Did he upset Yuri? The youth wasn’t going to spit it out, even if something  _ did  _ bother him. The least Viktor could do was remain polite while Yuri sorted through his thoughts.

“Could you bring a pillow for me, please?” Viktor’s grimace twisted his smile into a strange hybrid between disparate and polite. Yuri squinted at him, but he carried out his duty. And when Yuri disappeared down the corner, Viktor was finally able to relax.

The amber and gold shining from Sochi reflected off of Viktor’s eyes. Much like how sunlight reflected off of the greenery of plants to let us know if they’re healthy or not. Viktor’s eyes were already wilting. A darker teal branched across his iris, brown emerging from around his pupils. The Russian drew back his bangs, trying to sit up straight. His lower back didn’t permit it, but that didn’t stop Viktor from trying. Pain seared his lower body until he had to give in.

This was his burden to bear. Fate was rather unkind when you wanted something. In exchange, you had to sacrifice something of equal value. That was a standard for any deal, and Viktor knew what he was getting himself into when he saw someone _ ,  _ but didn’t feel any affection towards them. The sacrifice didn’t persist with one, but with every person Viktor encountered. He could feign a smile, feign a laugh, feign sadness or pity. Perhaps, even love. If he cared to express it. But, what use was all of that if all the paints Viktor could ever use were the same, three colors.  _ Black, white, and teal.  _ There was nothing happy or forgiving about any of them, but an artist had to make-do with what they had. And for twenty-six years, Viktor knew that he would never see the other colors.  _ Again. _

Fiddling with his thumbs, Viktor pulled out his phone. Scrolled through his contacts. Unlike before, the list was tiny. Only a few people, but Viktor was good at remembering numbers. On the dial pad, his fingers instinctively typed someone’s phone number. Viktor brought the phone to his ear, expecting to hear someone’s voice. The airiness of the tone, the hesitation with every word, and the crooked roundness over each syllable.

No one picked up.

* * *

 

“I’ll learn sign-language. You don’t have to use your voice if you don’t want to.” Yuri clung to the pillow in his arms. His breath rose above his head in the Russian winter, but Yuri liked being out here on the balcony. The creamy fixtures coated in frost, the satisfying crunches under his shuffling feet. The youth offered his pillow to his conversational-partner, but Yuuri shook his head.

It was foolhardy for him to be out in the cold. Alcohol kept him warm with a cost. Blood flushed tightly against his skin, it left Yuuri’s core vulnerable to the frigid temperatures. He knew it was stupid to be out here, given that his suit jacket was with Phichit. The Thai skater had disappeared somewhere, but this was okay. If Phichit wasn’t looking for him, Yuuri could have his talk with Yuri Plisetsky. Alone.

“I want to be confident with my voice.” Yuuri’s speech was improving, but there were odd emphasizes throughout his sentence. He couldn’t hear them, but the flicker in Yuri’s eyes told him where he could’ve done better. Any hint, no matter how small, was enough to help Yuuri improve. To be honest, he was more comfortable speaking than signing. It must’ve been a side-effect from living in a world where he primarily spoke instead.  _ But in this world, people are more comfortable when I sign.  _ Yuuri’s fingers twitched. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Yuuri already knew how it felt to be a puppet. Unable to do anything because something else pulled the strings in the shadows. No, Yuuri wanted to be himself. He wasn’t another character in someone else’s story. Yuuri was Yuuri, and the Japanese skater played to his strengths. Even though, those strengths were his weaknesses in this world.

“Have we met before?” Yuuri asked. “In the Junior League or in passing?”

“Mostly in passing. Sometimes, we see each other in the locker room during the preliminaries. For the Grand Prix.” Yuri’s speech was hesitant. He added pauses where there didn’t need to be any. Unsure of his own voice,  _ a sharp contrast from the Yuri Plisetsky that Yuuri was familiar with. _

_ He doesn’t want to talk much,  _ Yuuri thought.  _ Like how I used to be. _

Yuri pursed his lips. “I have to go somewhere. A friend of mine needs this pillow.” Yuri squished the fluffy block with his fingers, digging his nails into the silky flesh.

“I can take it to them,” Yuuri suggested. He gestured to his red face. “I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

* * *

 

Viktor was about to give-up on Yuri before he heard footsteps coming down the hall. His eyes caught sight of Yuuri’s stumbling shadow, the twists and twirls that he worked across the floor like he was dancing, and there was a decorative pillow in his arms. He cradled it like a baby. Nearly ran into a wall while holding it, but Viktor held back his laugh. He didn’t have to, but he wanted to.

_ Just because someone didn’t you see do it, it doesn’t make it right.  _ That was an old comment Yuuri used to say when he caught Viktor doing something he shouldn't have. A small laugh when disaster struck, a thin smile over an issue, or whenever he pretended to not notice something when it was  _ clearly  _ in front of his eyes. Viktor was rather cynical, and the Russian knew that. That was why Yuuri disappeared, but Viktor didn’t need to dwell on the future because it didn’t exist in this timeline.

It was just him and Yuuri. Strangers at their finest, but Yuuri was coming over. He slurred a few things, so Viktor didn’t understand. His signs were sloppy, replaced with grand gestures as if the man was playing a game of charades. Yuuri’s glasses slipped and fell. Sliding across the marble floor to meet Viktor’s shoe. Slowly, Viktor bent down and picked them up. Still looking at Yuuri because the man was making a  _ fool  _ of himself. Smelling more like a liquor store with each passing minute before Yuuri finally sat down. On the hard floor, squinting up at Viktor before offering the decorative pillow.

 

_ “Podushka.”  _ The word stumbled from Yuuri’s lips, perking Viktor’s ears.

* * *

 

_ “Hey, Yuuri?” _

_ It was late in the afternoon, and Viktor was ready for his nap. Makkachin was curled over his chest, but Viktor didn’t seem to mind. He scratched behind the poodle’s ear and glanced to his right when Yuuri emerged from the closet, bath towels in hand. They had been living together for at least a week by then, as engaged partners. Marriage somewhere over the horizon, but they weren’t ready to cross the bridge just yet. It didn’t stop Viktor from admiring his engagement ring whenever he had the chance, earning rolled-eyes from Yuuri whenever he saw. _

_ “What do you need, Handsome?” _

_ Viktor laughed. Kind of hard to do when there was a big poodle squishing your chest, but Viktor managed somehow. _

_ “Can you get me a--” _

_ Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” _

_ Viktor blinked at him. “Podushka.” _

_ Yuuri scratched his head. “Blanket?” _

_ “Smaller than that.” _

_ “Cushion?” _

_ “For my head? Yes.” Viktor watched Yuuri disappear into the bedroom, later coming out with a squishy pillow in his hands. Blue and gold stripes, Yuuri sure laughed when he saw that for the first time. And at the time, Viktor argued that the colors complemented each other. But now, Viktor could see how tacky the color-choice was. Almost as if was compensating for something, but there was nothing to compensate for because Yuuri was the blue to his gold. _

_ Viktor lifted his head, and Yuuri slid the pillow underneath. _

_ “Do you feel better?” _

_ “A lot better.” Craning his neck, Viktor reached up and kissed Yuuri’s cheek. _

* * *

 

It was funny how a single word could trigger a forgotten memory. Despite being in a well-heated building, Viktor felt cold. He reached his hand out and accepted Yuuri’s offer. Thanking the skater before resting the pillow against his back. A light purr escaped from Viktor’s lips when he eased back. His spine felt better.

_ You should go back to the party,  _ Viktor signed. Making his gestures large so that Yuuri could make them out. It’d be best if he gave Yuuri back his glasses, but Viktor wanted to hold onto them a little longer. He wondered how far he could tempt Fate before it killed him inside. Viktor was already a dead-man walking. It didn’t matter anymore.

_ “I don’t want to.”  _ Yuuri scooted over. Hands patting around the floor for his glasses. Viktor kept the glasses just out from Yuuri’s reach, teasing the man. Yuuri didn’t seem to notice, but Viktor was weighed down with guilt. It wasn’t right for him to do this, but he wanted to do this. Not for pleasure or out of malice, but because the man had limited options. To the world, Viktor was Yuuri’s rival. To Viktor, this was  _ his  _ way of keeping Yuuri away from him. The skater didn’t believe that he and Viktor were rivals, so the Russian had to change that.

If Viktor couldn’t do that, his  _ sacrifice  _ didn’t mean anything. Anymore.

“Yuuri.” Viktor hadn’t said that name in a long time. “I’m not the same Viktor. He doesn’t exist so please, stop looking for him.”

“No.”

Yuuri grabbed his glasses and slipped them on. The bubbly drunk that Viktor recognized melted, revealing a steadfast individual. The  _ same  _ individual that was on pursuit during the  _ Eros  _ routine. The  _ same  _ individual who urged Viktor to keep coaching him on the moves he wasn’t familiar with. The  _ same  _ individual who promised Viktor that’ll he win gold in the next season. As long as Viktor remained as his coach.

For a moment, Viktor did have hope.

He pushed Yuuri away.

Viktor got up slowly and shuffled back to his hotel suite. Didn’t turn around when Yuuri called out his name. Didn’t turn around when he heard Yuuri’s footsteps. Viktor simply waited for an elevator before boarding, the metal doors nearly crushing Yuuri’s fingers before the skater pulled the doors apart. Back against the elevator’s wall, Viktor stood firmly.

_ “Viktor--” _

“If you want to see me this badly, next season’s your last chance.” The rival-persona took charge. Tilting his head innocently, but with a sly smile when Yuuri’s expression slid off.  _ In horror. _ “Be careful,  _ Yuuri.”  _ The name rolled off of Viktor’s tongue when the skater stepped back. The elevator doors closed the opening between them. “Save that face for when  _ I  _ win gold.”

_ “You are my gold.” _

That was what Yuuri wanted to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I admit, this plot is pretty weird. Actually a combination of a soulmate-thingie that I did a while back, where memories were very important. So if you're ever confused, I do leave hints within this story that may clear "stuff" up. For example, pay attention to the flashbacks, which are in (italics). Especially pay attention to what memory is triggered for Yuuri or Viktor.
> 
> And even though Georgi and Mila are dramatically entertaining--what a classic--I would advise that you keep a close-eye on them. Those two, to a certain extent, are steering the story and conveying the issues that underline Yuuri and Viktor's problems]
> 
> ///
> 
> HQ! How are the characters different from canon???  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> Yuuri--> The same, but I think he's starting to act more like crafty canon-Viktor???  
> Yurio--> Kind of reminds of Otabek. Awkward blunt.  
> Viktor--> this poor man, who has to maintain a rivalry-complex between him and Yuuri.  
> Michele--> bubbly  
> Sara--> channeling canon-Michele  
> Emil--> reminds of Sebastian from Black Butler  
> Georgi--> theatrical soul, who longs for not-romance  
> Mila--> quirky teen, at the height of her emotions  
> Chris--> pure cinnamon roll  
> JJ--> pure cinnamon roll, who's open about his anxiety


End file.
